Don't you wish life was a slut? Then it'd be easy.

I cast myself in front of the mirror,
to try to see what you see,
but, all I see is me.
Rotten, cold, dark
and whithered away.
Why do you fancy this?
Does the horror intrigue you?
Does my mystery call to your interest?
Do you, even see this?

I wonder if my emptiness,
fills you up.
If the stenches of my wounds
are pleasant to you.
I wonder if you know the difference
between a fake smile on my face
and a true one.
I wonder, if you saw
the ruins of my soul,
if that would have you in a stir.
Do you, even want to see this?

So I cast myself from the mirror,
and I look at you.
So I ponder...
Do you, even see me?
Nothing but a wilted flower even in the spring.